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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927701">Mycroft in Costume</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc'>trillian_jdc</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Classic Doctor Who References, Conventions, Cosplay, Costumes, Doctor Who References, First Kiss, Greg Ships John/Sherlock, Greg's Not a Doctor Who Fan (Yet), M/M, Sherlock Ships Them</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:33:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg is helping with security for the big science fiction convention when Sherlock shows him some old photos of a <i>Doctor Who</i> cosplayer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Greg Lestrade &amp; John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mycroft in Costume</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606602">Mycroft in Fashion</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc">trillian_jdc</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Ready for this weekend, boss?"</p><p>"What's this weekend, Donovan?" Greg asked. Things had been so busy lately that he didn't even remember it was Friday. </p><p>"Freaks are in town. That big convention? They sent out a staffing request for security last week?" </p><p>Greg dropped his head into his hands. He'd been dragooned into supervising the setup, probably because the higher-ups figured if he could handle Sherlock, he could handle a bunch of science fiction fans. The extra pay would be nice, but at this point, he'd rather have the sleep. "Thanks for the reminder," he groaned. </p><p>He shuffled through the papers on his desk to find his schedule. Lovely. It started at 7 AM on Saturday, as fans were expected to be lining up early for the guest appearances. He'd better head home now, then.</p>
<hr/><p>As Greg approached the exhibition centre, his mouth fell open. He hadn't figured on so many people in costumes. Wings and swords (that was an issue) and capes and colors and scarves and leather coats. </p><p>He did a double-take when he saw a familiar-looking back, in a long dark coat with a blue scarf and curly hair. Then the person turned around, and it was a woman. Greg shook his head. He knew John's blog and the resurrection and everything had made Sherlock a minor celebrity, but he hadn't realized that meant he had fans. Dedicated fans. Fans that dressed up as him. He wondered if John knew. And what John would do if he met a female Sherlock. He chuckled. None of his business, that. Still, he took out his phone and snuck a picture. Might come in handy if Sherlock got out of hand.</p>
<hr/><p>Greg had never been so exhausted. Even though he'd spent most of his day in the planning office, away from the crowds, the number of incidents that came through the security group was surprising. He'd expected shoplifting attempts and keeping the queues in order. He hadn't expected his team to have to break up fistfights over whose art had been copied, nor the pandemonium that resulted when one of the big-name TV stars agreed to accept a hug from someone at a panel. That was a near-riot, as attendees surged forward to add themselves to the queue. </p><p>Could have been worse, though. One of the organizers had been telling him about an attempted stabbing that happened a few years ago at an American show, over who got to sit in the front row. At least Brits knew how to queue properly. And nothing had happened with actual weapons. </p><p>His mobile sounded, thankfully disturbing his thoughts. </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>John Watson:</b></span>Heard you had a long day. Ready for the pub?</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p>Bless John Watson. </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
<span class="text">Yeah, be at yours in 30.</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><hr/><p>John was in the running for sainthood, as Greg walked in to find a pint of his favorite waiting for him, just pulled. His timing had been predicted to the minute, thanks to the other person waiting with John. </p><p>"Sherlock! Hadn't expected you for a pub night," Greg greeted him. </p><p>"John demanded I get off the sofa. Any crimes at the convention? Perhaps a murderer in disguise?" Sherlock's eyes glinted inappropriately at the idea of something to investigate. </p><p>"They're called costumes, and nah, all went well. Still tomorrow, though, for your morbid hopes. That reminds me. John, did you know about this?" Greg showed him the image of the woman in the Sherlock costume on his mobile. </p><p>John burst out laughing. "Sherlock, you've got fans!" He took a closer look at the picture. "That's a pretty good costume, actually. It's not cheap to get that coat any more. And they've done the hair, too." </p><p>Greg chuckled along. "Thought you might be interested. Didn't get her number, though." </p><p>Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Greg, staying quiet, while John looked stunned and stuttered out a response. "Why... what are you implying?"</p><p>"Nothing, mate, nothing at all. Cheers." He raised his glass, clinked John's, and settled in for some serious drinking.</p>
<hr/><p>After sharing a number of stories about his day, interspersed with John's surprisingly similar memories of university rugby match celebrations, Greg was feeling pleasantly snockered. He thanked the other two and stood up. "'bout time for me to be off, gents." </p><p>"Hold up, Lestrade," Sherlock demanded. He'd been playing with his phone during most of the conversation, nothing new there. "Since we were sharing convention photos, I thought you might be interested in these." </p><p>Greg's mobile beeped as a text downloaded. It resolved into a picture of a determined-looking red-headed man in an old-fashioned burgundy jacket with his hand outstretched to the camera, standing in front of ... a blue box? </p><p>It was promptly followed by two more of the same person, one with him peering through a monocle, the other with him smiling, leaning on the prop, hand on hip, and looking quite pleased with himself. </p><p>"Sherlock, what are you on about now?" </p><p>"I thought the game was looking at embarrassing costumes?" Sherlock asked, disingenuously. </p><p>"Sure you did, sunshine." Greg knew Sherlock needed to have the last word, but he didn't understand what these old photos had to do with anything. He'd seen enough evidence to recognize that they were low-res, before cameraphones were common, from the size and fuzziness. That background looked familiar. "That some kind of <i>Doctor Who</i> thing?" </p><p>"Exactly, Graham. Have a good evening." Sherlock turned away, dismissing him. Greg shrugged and continued making his way home. The passionate intensity of the young man in the photos tickled at the edge of his imagination.</p>
<hr/><p>The next morning, back at the convention, Greg pulled out his mobile during a slow time. Sundays, he'd been told, were always quieter, as the one-day attendees had come and gone and everyone was already thinking about getting back home. </p><p>As he flipped through the set of pictures again, finding something familiar about them, one of the volunteer coordinators wandered into the planning office. She was twenty-something, wearing a brown suit, trainers, a long overcoat -- was that required for all these costumes? -- and carrying a shiny, stubby, metal wand-like thing. </p><p>"We've really appreciated your help, Mr. Lestrade. It's been very reassuring have a real, live Scotland Yard officer here. I hope it hasn't been too much of an annoyance for you." </p><p>Greg smiled at her. "Happy to help, really. Nora, is it? It's been quite the eye-opener." He paused. "Do you know anything about <i>Doctor Who</i>, I think it is?" </p><p>Nora laughed. "I knew you weren't a fan, but..." She gestured at herself. "This is the Tenth Doctor's outfit. So yes, I've seen some <i>Doctor Who</i>." </p><p>Greg grinned. "Yeah, not much time for that myself. That blue box, though, is that what's in this picture?" He turned his mobile to show her the first image of the series he'd been sent.  </p><p>She peered at the phone. "Definitely. That's a great mockup. Who's the cosplayer? He looks way into it." </p><p>"Cosplayer?" </p><p>"Oh, that's what it's called now. Cosplay, from Japanese, means costume play. Dressing up like a favorite character. This isn't one of the actual Doctors. Very similar, though. Do you know when this was taken?" </p><p>"Nah, a friend sent me this. Didn't ask, didn't trust him to answer." </p><p>"Is it ok if I ask someone about this? I suspect it was a photo shoot background the show set up one year. We could narrow down the timeframe, if you want." </p><p>Greg hmphed a brief laugh. He can't get away from investigations, it seems. "Sure, 'm curious. Don't waste your time if it turns out no one knows. Nothing important, I suspect." </p><p>"There's a fan site with people who know everything about the show and the conventions. Here, let me..." Greg handed over his phone. "I'll post up this picture and see what comes in. Let's give it a couple of hours, and I'll meet you back here at lunchtime." Nora finished tapping at the screen, gave him back the mobile, and headed out again.</p>
<hr/><p>Greg had taken a turn on the exhibition floor, marveling at how many people enjoyed so many TV shows and movies and characters and how much there was to see and buy. Now he was back in the office, waiting to see if Nora had turned anything up. </p><p>His mobile rang from a blocked number. He picked up anyway. An inspector couldn't be unavailable. "Lestrade." </p><p>"Greetings, Detective Inspector. I'm told you're having quite the unusual weekend." It was the polished voice of Mycroft Holmes. The tickle Greg got whenever he heard it started up at the base of his spine. </p><p>"Mr. Holmes," Greg answered. "Didn't expect a science fiction gathering to rate your attention." </p><p>Mycroft chuckled. "That's due to you, I'm afraid. A search from your mobile phone was flagged on one of my automated alerts." </p><p>Greg rubbed his forehead. He should have known, with Sherlock involved. Mycroft was continuing to explain, in a softer tone, "Nothing to worry about, Greg. It is a personal matter." </p><p>Suddenly it clicked. "Those pictures! That was you!" Greg exclaimed before he thought better of it. </p><p>Mycroft was quiet for a few moments before sighing and continuing. "Sherlock has once again been rummaging through the attic. He does love to find the pieces of history one hopes have been buried. I suppose it is too much to ask you to forget that you ever saw them?" </p><p>"Why would I want to do that? They're great! Tell me about them?" Greg asked. Another idea sparked. Perhaps this was an opportunity to take advantage of. "You can meet me for lunch, and I'll get you in to the convention." </p><p>"Why would I want to do that?" Mycroft echoed. "Those regrettable images date from over two decades ago, and they were supposed to have been removed from the internet." </p><p>Greg lost his exuberance all at once. He should have known better. Of course Mycroft wouldn't want some silliness from his younger days to be known, let alone talked about. Sherlock had set him up once again and run away to leave him with the fallout. </p><p>He remembered who was on the phone. He began to apologize. "I hadn't realized. Of course you wouldn't want them out there. I'll get Nora to remove them. 'm sorry." He hung up without waiting for Mycroft's reply. Foolish of him to think Mycroft would be interested in spending an afternoon with him, let alone someplace so silly.</p>
<hr/><p>Mycroft stared at his now-silent phone. Damn. That wasn't supposed to go that way. Mycroft had wanted Sherlock to feel bad about dredging up some juvenile frivolity of his past, not Greg. Never Greg.</p><p>Now that he'd heard Greg's reaction, he realized that he might have overreacted. The dashing detective inspector seemed remarkably enthusiastic about the whole idea. Perhaps those pictures weren't quite as embarrassing as he'd imagined. Perhaps he owed Greg an apology. An idea began to take shape. He texted his PA to arrange for the car and a few other items while he found what he needed in a dusty wardrobe.</p>
<hr/><p>Greg had sent out a message over the handhelds for Nora to meet him at the office ASAP. She popped in, shortly thereafter, a little out of breath. "What is it, Mr. Lestrade?"</p><p>"I made a mistake. A big one. Can you get that picture and anything about it taken down?" </p><p>"I can email the site moderators, they should be able to help. Everything ok?"</p><p>"I found out more about it, and it's not something to mess with. I should know better than to get involved between those two." Greg was almost talking to himself, as Nora busied herself with her mobile. </p><p>"There. Should be ok in a few hours. Nothing to worry about, Mr. Lestrade, I'm sure." </p><p>"I hope you're right." Greg shook himself out of his mood. No need to ruin anyone else's day. "All else all right out there?" </p><p>"Oh, yes, seems to be going well. No one's started packing up yet, which means people are still shopping and enjoying themselves," Nora answered. </p><p>Just then, an announcement came over the intercom. "Lestrade to the front ticket gate, please. Lestrade to the front tickets." </p><p>The two looked at each other before jumping up and heading towards the admission area.</p>
<hr/><p>Greg hurried over to the staff at the main admission booth, who pointed him towards an open area to the left. There, a tall, auburn-haired man in a cloak was standing, back to them. Greg straightened his shoulders, prepared to handle whatever the issue was, but Nora, with her younger legs and greater energy, beat him to the person. </p><p>As Greg reached them, she was saying, "Oh, this is amazing. Can I touch it? An authentic opera cloak! You must be a Third Doctor fan, am I right?" </p><p>The man turned around and smiled shyly at Greg. "Hello, Detective Inspector. Could we try this conversation again?" </p><p>Greg couldn't believe it. The outfit -- wine-colored velvet smoking jacket, frilly shirt, floppy bow tie, topped off with a ridiculous cloak that somehow looked elegant on him -- suited Mycroft perfectly. A large grin broke across his face. Perhaps the day wasn't lost after all. "Mycroft! Look at you!" </p><p>Nora looked back and forth between the two men. "Mr. Lestrade, is this him?" Greg nodded. </p><p>She turned to Mycroft. "Good for you! It's great to see someone older continue cosplaying." Greg began coughing as he quickly swallowed what he was going to say. He couldn't wait to see Mycroft's response. </p><p>It was polite, as expected, even if he rolled his eyes before speaking. "I'm so glad you still have space for us older people at your event." </p><p>"Fandom's a big tent, sir. Could we get a picture? Two Doctors together?" She thrust her phone at Greg and turned herself and Mycroft towards him. </p><p>Greg spoke quickly, "Not a good idea, Nora. We've already had trouble with that today." </p><p>Mycroft touched his arm instead of interrupting. "I came to apologize to you for overreacting. If the young lady would like a picture, I am happy to indulge her."</p><p>"If you're sure. But a real smile, alright? This isn't one of your embassy dos." Mycroft obliged him as Greg took the photo. As he handed the phone back to Nora and asked her to send him a copy, he noticed his mobile already in Mycroft's hand. He'd picked it out of his pocket, the sneak! </p><p>"Perhaps you might return the favor, my dear?" Mycroft asked the young woman, handing her the device. </p><p>She came close to squealing before settling and clearing her throat. "Of course. Mr. Lestrade, your turn. Get close, now." </p><p>Mycroft raised an arm around Greg's shoulders, settling the cloak around both of them, as he looked sideways at him and asked, "Is this all right?" </p><p>Greg snuck an arm around his waist in return and smiled widely at him. "Just fine, Mycroft." Getting this close to him was all the apology he needed. They'd forgotten about Nora, who kept tapping away, making a photo roll of their conversation. "Where'd you get the finery?" </p><p>"It seems there was more in the attic than photo albums," Mycroft replied. "The seventies have much to apologize for, but I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed wearing a velvet jacket." </p><p>"Told you those photos were good. You make a dashing Doctor." Greg tightened his hand on Mycroft's hip just a little. </p><p>"As if you knew who that was before today," Mycroft sniffed, before smiling back at him. "You do realize she's still taking pictures of us?" </p><p>"Nora's been quite the help," Greg responded. "Although we probably should leave. You're beginning to draw a crowd." Several groups of convention-goers were hanging about, attracted by the picture-taking, pointing and noting Mycroft's outfit. "Aren't you concerned about doing this in public?" </p><p>"Who will believe it's me?" Mycroft smirked. </p><p>"If you don't care when Sherlock finds out..." Greg volleyed back. </p><p>Mycroft shuddered. "You do go straight for the jugular at times." </p><p>"Let's see the convention, while you're here, anyway." Greg turned to those who'd gathered nearby, waving them away. "Show's over. Go on with you." He took his phone back from Nora. "Message me if I'm needed, but I'm going to clock out early." </p><p>She smiled at him. "I don't blame you. He's cute." </p><p>Greg frowned at her. "Enough of that. He's sort of a co-worker." He glanced over at Mycroft, who was speaking with someone in a brown floppy hat and ridiculously long striped scarf. </p><p>"He's still cute. And you're cute together." She looked at him more closely. "I have some ideas if you ever want to cosplay together." </p><p>"Me? In costume?" </p><p>"He did it for you," Nora observed. </p><p>Greg stopped and thought a moment. "He did, didn't he? You think that means something?" </p><p>Now it was Nora's turn to roll her eyes. "Someone who is so private they want decades-old pictures off the internet dressed up and came down here just to see you, and you want to know if that's significant?" </p><p>"When you put it like that... are there Doctor-y things we can see here?" </p><p>"At a science fiction convention? You think?" Nora switched out of sarcasm mode for a moment. "If you really want to play fan, take him to Cardiff. That's where they film the series. Text me and I'll get you details later. For now, buy him a sonic screwdriver." She took out the silver wand-y thing he'd seen her carrying. "Like this. Now go get him." She shoved Greg towards him and walked away. </p><p>Greg went back to Mycroft. "Ready to check this out?" He held out his hand. </p><p>Mycroft looked at the hand, at Greg's face, filled with optimism and possibility, then at his hand again before taking it in his own. "Yes, I am."</p>
<hr/><p>The two men enjoyed the remaining hours of the convention more than they expected. There was still plenty to see, with fewer people to dodge. They walked hand in hand, with Greg telling himself it was more practical, so as not to get separated. Although it would be hard to lose Mycroft in that get-up. Every so often, his diplomatic experience came into play, as someone would stop him and compliment his costume or ask for a picture. </p><p>Greg kept an eye out for the screwdriver toy Nora had mentioned, and luckily, he found one just as a particularly persistent fan was asking Mycroft if he could name all the Doctors. He snuck away long enough to purchase it, hiding it in his pocket as Mycroft began looking for him. </p><p>"Had enough, have you?" Greg asked in sympathy. The fan had been particularly pushy. They began working their way off the show floor towards a secluded, quiet corner.</p><p>"I hadn't expected so many people to remember the show the way I did. It has been quite the trip down memory lane." </p><p>"If you're not worn out yet, we could get dinner, and you could tell me about those pictures," Greg offered. "But first, a souvenir." He pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and offered it over. "To complete the outfit. 's also a pen." </p><p>Mycroft's eyes shone. "Lestrade... Greg... thank you. I needed nothing to remember how enjoyable this day has been, but I gratefully appreciate the thought." He took the gift and began gesturing with it, aiming it in various directions. </p><p>Greg loved seeing Mycroft lose himself in play-acting. "It was Nora, actually. She thought you'd like it." As he scruffed his hand through his hair, he thought about what else she'd said. </p><p>Mycroft paused. "That young lady was particularly observant. And clever." </p><p>"She was," Greg said, "which makes me think that this might be ok." He moved closer to Mycroft, stepping inside the circle of his cloak and put his hands on the taller man's waist. "Hmmm?" he wordlessly asked as he looked up into his face. </p><p>Something flashed through Mycroft's eyes before he closed them and bent his head downwards. Their lips met. </p><p>Greg had never imagined he'd be kissing Mycroft for the first time at a science fiction convention. But then, he hadn't been sure he'd ever be kissing the man, so perhaps a world of imagination was just the right place. He certainly had some creative ideas about how their evening could continue. </p><p>They broke apart to breathe. Greg ducked his head against Mycroft's neck. "Nora thinks we should dress up together," he said, blurting out the first thing that came into his head to calm his whirling thoughts. </p><p>"She does, does she? If we continued the theme, you'd have the choice of military official, schoolteacher, or ... yes, I think I'd pick the Highlander in a kilt." </p><p>Greg laughed. "Me? In a kilt?" </p><p>Mycroft nuzzled at him, a little, and purred, "I think you'd look wonderful. Or maybe I just want to see your legs." </p><p>Greg looked into his eyes and swallowed hard. Mycroft was coming out of his shell in more ways than one. He ran his hands up and down Mycroft's sides. "This velvet feels great, all soft and fuzzy. Wanna skip dinner and see what else does?" </p><p>Mycroft was already reaching for his mobile. "I'll call my car."</p><p>Greg reluctantly stepped back. "Good idea. Wouldn't do for the security advisor to get caught snogging in public." The two looked at each other and grinned. Greg continued, "So, think Sherlock wants copies of today's photos?" </p><p>Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "I think he's already caused enough trouble, don't you?" </p><p>"Dunno. Turned out to be good trouble, in the end. I liked seeing another side of you." He nudged Mycroft in the ribs. "You still haven't told me the story behind those pictures." </p><p>"Young, overly dramatic, carried away by meeting other people who shared an interest -- there's not much to it, really." </p><p>"Don't give me that, Mycroft. It took some work to put that outfit together. And plan where to wear it." </p><p>Mycroft ducked his head, averting his eyes. "Perhaps." </p><p>"All I care is, you look happy. Don't get to see that enough these days." </p><p>"Stick around, then, Greg, because I have the feeling that now, it will happen more often." Mycroft dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. "The car's here. Shall we?" The two walked off together, arm in arm, Mycroft's cloak swirling behind them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is much in the mode of my "Mycroft in Fashion", but it's odd enough that I wanted to make it its own thing. </p><p>I was inspired by the 1999 <a href="https://johannadc.tumblr.com/post/641071307561304064/i-wrote-a-thing-inspired-by-this-1999-mark">Mark Gatiss as Doctor Who photos</a>, of course. And him <a href="https://tempus-aeterna.tumblr.com/post/72668158854/waywardchangeling-notfspurejam-mark-gatiss">dressing up as the Third Doctor</a> for <i>An Adventure in Space and Time</i>. </p><p>I know I'm supposed to be working on finishing other stories, but this just came to me. (And then I forgot writing is hard work and spent much of the day on it.) I've had a love/hate relationship with conventions since I started going in the 1990s, but now, I find myself missing them a lot. I hope some manage to happen safely this year. </p><p>Oh, and she's named "Nora" because "Nyssa" seemed too on-the-nose and "Alicia" might have caused confusion.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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